Title: Spider's Dream
Rating: M
Pairings: Éomer/Lothíriel
Genre: Romance/Adventure/Drama
Summary: Who do you send when all the king's men and all the king's horses can't manage? A spider, obviously.
Disclaimer: The Lord of The Rings is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien and his estate. This is a work of fanfiction, written for the enjoyment of myself and others. No financial profit is made by writing this.
Author's Note: Sometimes stories start in some unexpected ways. A while ago now I came across an image at tumblr. It was, as I gather, the cover for a Tolkien roleplay titled "Assassins of Dol Amroth" by Iron Crown Enterprises from 1987. I never investigated what the roleplay was like, but I was almost immediately inspired by the title. In the tags of my own reblog, I also revealed my idea: a story where princesses of Dol Amroth act as spies/assassins, and Ivriniel training Lothíriel in this trade. The cover of the roleplay even had a female assassin on it. I would link the post here, but you know how this site feels about links, but you might find it by googling.
I know, I know – it's a bold idea. But if by now I haven't proved my willingness to take on bold ideas, I truly do not what else I should do! Anyway, I dismissed the idea at the time, as I had other stories to work on, and right then I didn't really have a story to build around the setting. I even forgot about it for a while.
But after a while I came across that post again and I remembered what I had thought about it the first time round. And now a story began to form in my mind to flesh out the idea. Hence, this new fic was born. I have several chapters drafted, and I must say it's been a delightful thing to write! Éomer and Lothíriel adventuring together is always close to my heart, and I have such a weakness for the Battle Couple trope. I'm afraid Éomer won't appear in this first chapter, for there are a few things I need to establish first, but I promise he'll be in the next one!
Hope you enjoy, and if you got time, please let me know what you think!
"And the secret to freedom is courage."
- Thucydides
Chapter 1
What does a spider dream of?
Lothíriel, daughter of Imrahil, would sometimes wonder about it. She knew spiders were not thought of as nice or noble creatures, fit for proud banners that would be carried before lords and princes. Most people she knew were disgusted with spiders. They were ugly, repulsive things - spawns of Ungoliant herself. Always they were associated with evil and shadow. As a small girl she agreed it was unpleasant to find one scurrying under her bed, but when she grew older and her life took some unexpected turns, it occurred to her that if she should have a banner, it would have to be a spider.
For in time, she would learn about as much of finding shelter in shadow and weaving webs so fine and deceitful that it was close to an art form. A spider was a creature that came quietly in the night and was so deadly because no other thing under the Sun and Moon knew more about deception. If spiders could talk she imagined she and one of them would probably find a lot of things they had in common.
She never knew what a spider dreams of before she met him.
Lothíriel came into the world on a night when winter's storm raged outside the walls of Amrothian princes.
Aunt Ivriniel took it as a sign, for the evening had been calm and quiet until a storm wind picked up from the sea and threw its wrath against the land in a sudden bout, and she said that her niece lived in the fine edge of the blade that was between light and shadow, calm and chaos, life and death. But Father thought it was her trade that made aunt say things like that. Plenty of superstition seemed to go into her view of the world.
Though Lothíriel herself wouldn't know it for many years to come, she had been chosen the very night she was born.
In the castle by the Great Sea, the days of her childhood went by fast and as full of sunlight as her mother's most joyful songs. She ran with her brothers in games and mischief, played at the beach, explored in the palace and its lush gardens, and knew little of the lands beyond the city of Dol Amroth. Surely the shadows from outside hardly fell over her small, happy world, which was ruled by a simple conviction: her tall, strong father was capable of keeping out and fighting any evil that might come stalking at night.
But her aunt was often away, and if she should ask where her father's sister was, Mother would tell her that "aunt is away on a mission". In those days, such answer was more than enough. And when Aunt returned home, it was with tales from farthest corners of Gondor, or even beyond – though it always took effort to persuade her to share them. Once, she came back and gifted Elphir with an Umbarian dagger that shined blindingly with the many jewels set in it. It would be some time before Lothíriel would know the reason for these journeys, and with her childish innocence, she announced that one day, she too would travel far and wide, like her Aunt.
Perhaps that was the reason the tall, noble-faced woman chose to spend more time with her than with her older brothers, telling her about the places she had seen. However, soon she would be gone again, and the little princess would inquire about her absence, receiving once more that same answer from her mother.
She never grew to the age when this response would cease to satisfy her; for she got her reply sooner than she was ready to understand what it truly meant, and at the time, her dear, beloved Mother was already gone.
Life in the palace of princes was never quite the same after Mother had passed away, but time has a tendency of healing wounds, and Lothíriel still had the resilient heart of a child. Even so, in after days the sun did not shine quite as brightly as when Mother had lived, and shadows of the world grew a little darker. And when her brothers became ever busier with their lessons and their battle training, she knew in her heart, though she was but a little girl, that things were changing.
It was not long before her sixth birthday that one night, Aunt Ivriniel was brought into the palace, badly hurt. The hour was late when it happened, and at once she knew she wasn't supposed to see it: Father's second in command leading the way with a candle in his hands, the rustling of healers' garbs, the Swan Knights carrying the bier, and Father hurrying by the side of it... Lothíriel was well aware she ought to be in bed at this time, but the storm outside had kept her awake, and so she had left her bed to slip into Amrothos' chamber. The youngest of her brothers always slept like a log, and he didn't mind her company on the nights she couldn't fall asleep alone.
But as she was sneaking through the dark gallery, trying not to pay attention to the statues of her ancestors that looked so eerie at night, she heard urgent voices speaking down in the hall. The little princess could make out her father among them and her curiosity was wakened. So she tiptoed to the edge of gallery and peeked down into the hall, and there she saw the company around the bier. In the light of candles and torches, she saw their grave faces and the blood that stained the mass of cloth around her aunt's midsection.
A startled little gasp escaped her mouth as she stared at this scene, and then she ran for her brother's room, unsure of whether her nightmare was still continuing or not.
She was still shivering when she slipped under the blankets in Amrothos' bed, and her brother let out a mighty snore before he cracked open one eye.
"Bad dream, little sister?" he mumbled drowsily.
"Yes. I think so", she whispered and curled up, trying to warm her cold feet and hoping that by morning, what she had seen would simply have become a nightmare.
It was the first she began to suspect her aunt lived another life along with the one she had in the court of her father the Prince Imrahil.
It was quite possible that the thing she had seen that previous night would have troubled her and gnawed at her thoughts, hadn't Father told them the next morning that Aunt Ivriniel was back, and she was not well.
Hearing this statement, Lothíriel's brothers rapidly shot a series of questions at their sire, who had hard time keeping up with them. But she sat quietly and thought about what she had seen last night, and she wondered why her aunt had got so badly hurt.
Eventually, she asked one question: "Will she be all right, Ada?"
Her father and brothers fell silent. Elphir and Erchirion looked both very solemn, but Amrothos' eyes were burning. All four of them stared at Father.
"I have faith she will be. Your aunt is tenacious and strong, more so than you know, my children", he said at length, speaking softly and seriously.
"Can I see her?" asked the little princess, looking up at the strong, beloved face of her father.
"When she is feeling better", he answered and reached to brush his fingers across her cheek in a gentle gesture. There was a look then in his eyes that she did not understand, and would not in some time. Perhaps some part of him already knew – had always known.
Aunt was slow in recovery, and it was many days before any of her brother's children were allowed to see her. When at last Lothíriel was admitted to visit her aunt, it was for five minutes, and it looked like the injured woman only opened her eyes once to regard her. Chewing her lip between her teeth, the little princess left a vase of flowers she had picked from the gardens next to the bed, hoping their colourful splendour would cheer up her aunt and help the woman to heal sooner.
Be it with the aid of flowers or the arts of Father's healers, the danger on Aunt's life passed eventually, and after a while, one could see her taking short strolls outside the palace. She was pale still and her face was narrower than usually, and Lothíriel felt like at times she could see a strange, hollow look in the eyes of the tall woman. But when she came to the gardens to watch her play with her brothers or with the other children in the palace, the young princess might occasionally spy a smile on Aunt Ivriniel's face, and she thought maybe her kinswoman was getting better, body and spirit.
It was some two weeks later that Lothíriel overheard the conversation between her Father and Aunt Ivriniel. She was not trying to eavesdrop – she was simply holed up in her favourite place during a game of hide and seek. It was the branch of a high tree, with leaves growing so thick and vigorous that one could easily sit there and remain unnoticed. Granted, it took some skill and agility to be able to climb up to the wide, steady branch, and her brothers rarely had the patience to keep looking for so long that they would discover this hiding place.
Curled up on the branch and listening to the sounds of shouts afar as Amrothos rummaged through the garden in search of other players, Lothíriel did not at first hear the sounds of steps on the gravel. On the other hand, her aunt always walked so light and silent that it seemed like her feet made minimal noise even on such ground. But then a pair of heavier feet made contact with the path, and the little princess startled on her seat. Thankfully it was so steady that she was not in danger to fall, or expose herself.
"What is it you wanted to talk about, sister?" Father's voice asked. Lothíriel peered down through the leaves and wondered if she should announce herself somehow – her old nurse was always telling her how impolite it was to eavesdrop on conversations. But if she did, she would have to explain how and why she was in the tree, and it was sure to make Father decide no climbing was allowed in the gardens.
"I have been thinking, Imrahil", Aunt said, softly and thoughtfully. "My... accident has rather put things into perspective. If I should die now, there would be no one left to carry on my work."
"You still have many good years left in you. And you are usually much more careful", Father said warily, as though he already suspected what the conversation was about. Lothíriel huddled silently on her branch, trying to understand what they were talking about and finding little sense in it.
"And it's all the more reason for me to choose my successor when there is still time", Aunt stated solemnly. She cleared her throat and spoke, "I think it's time Lothíriel started her training."
"You can't be serious, Ivriniel", Father said, almost barking out the words. "I don't want my daughter to... to do what you do!"
"She is quick, she is clever, and I've seen her running and climbing around in the gardens. She has a gift, Imrahil", Aunt answered calmly. But Lothíriel grew even more confused. What were they talking about? What did her father's sister mean when she said the little princess had a gift?
"But she is just a child!" Father protested. The gravel beneath his shoes crunched as he paced around, but Aunt stood still like a statue.
"I was her age when I started, Imrahil. And the younger she begins, the better she will learn", she said. She sounded so determined, as though she had already decided how this discussion would turn out.
"Ivriniel, I cannot allow this", Father said. Why did he sound so pained? Lothíriel frowned to herself. What was this training they were talking about, and why was he so against it? Surely her learning new things would be good for her? Maybe Aunt wanted her to become a Knight, like her brothers.
"Cannot, or won't? Look around yourself, brother. We do not live in a world where we can afford to be sentimental. I'm not going to live forever and years are already gaining on me. I'm not as quick and agile as I once was. Soon I will lose my edge, and what would you have us do then? Lothíriel the only female of her generation, Imrahil. Soon enough she will be needed, and then you'll be sorry you didn't let me train her", Aunt stated, almost as though she was accusing him of something. Through the leaves, Lothíriel could see her father flinch.
"You could teach Amrothos or Erchirion", he said at length. This only bewildered the little princess more: her brothers were already training. So it was not to become a Knight!
"They're already too old, their heads too full of nonsense that would get them killed in this trade. Their skills will be better used among soldiers on battlefields. No, Imrahil – this is something only a Princess of Dol Amroth can do. You know just as well as I do why that is", Aunt said firmly. A soft little gasp left Lothíriel's mouth, but she covered it hastily. Something told her this was not a conversation she was supposed to hear.
Father didn't seem to have heard anything, but Aunt lifted her eyes and scanned her surroundings with sharp eyes. For a second it felt as though the woman could see through the leaves of the tree and their gazes locked, but then Princess Ivriniel looked away once more.
The space below trees was silent again. Father had stopped pacing and he stood quietly, his back towards Lothíriel so that the princess could not tell what expressions were passing on his face. She wondered why he was so against this "training" Aunt spoke of. It sounded very important to the young princess.
Her frown deepened. What was it exactly that her Aunt did?
"I suggest you think about it, Imrahil. Your daughter could help to save a lot of lives. This city will need her", Aunt Ivriniel said at last. Down below, Lothíriel could see her resting one hand on Father's shoulder, and then the tall woman strode off, leaving behind two family members who were probably left equally uneasy by the conversation that had just taken place.
Lothíriel did not forget about the confrontation she had witnessed that day in the gardens. It was often on her mind on the days that followed, and more she thought about it, the more she had questions. How she would have loved to go to her father and ask for the truth! However, doing so would reveal she had been eavesdropping, and she didn't want him to be angry with her. Fortunately for her, Father did not keep it to himself for longer than three days.
After breakfast, when her brothers were noisily exiting their family's private dining hall and Amrothos was complaining about not wanting to train today, their sire spoke her name and asked her to stay behind.
"What is it, Father?" she asked him as she approached him. She noted there were shadows underneath his eyes, like he had not slept well in many days.
"Come and walk with me, daughter. There is something I would like to talk about with you", he said and gestured her to follow.
They stepped out into the hallway. Bright morning's light was streaming in through the great windows; it was going to be a beautiful day. No matter how eerie this place could be at night, in daylight it was rather lovely.
"Lothíriel, what do you know about your aunt's missions?" Father asked her at length as they strolled down the hall.
"She says it's her task to protect our city", Lothíriel recited what her aunt had told her once. Granted, she didn't exactly know what that meant, but she assumed her father's sister was doing good things. Maybe she went out together with the Swan Knights?
Father let out a small sigh and he was silent for a while.
"It's a bit more complicated than that, dauhgter", he said in a quiet voice. "Perhaps I should let her explain that part. But the important thing is that she wants to teach you to become like her."
The little princess looked up at her father sharply.
"So I would get to fight orcs, too, like my brothers?" she asked eagerly. Often she had watched her brothers sparring and wanted to join them, and become a Knight. But just as often they dismissed her, telling her she was too small and couldn't keep up. However, if she had Father's blessing, then her brothers would have to comply!
She remembered the conversation she had accidentally heard. Judging by what her aunt and father had said to one another, this training did not sound like it prepared Knights.
"Not exactly. What she does is... different. She will explain", Father said, and she saw him frowning. "Do you want it, Lothíriel? The choice is yours. I will not make you do anything. Do you wish to become like your aunt, or spend your days in peace?"
"I want to be like Aunt. I want to defend the city, too", the little princess stated determinedly. It sounded much better than the alternative, and then she could show her brothers!
Father sighed again.
"I'm not convinced you are old enough to make this choice", he said slowly, gazing at her in a way that was almost sorrowful. "But she insists you must begin now or never, and... perhaps years will give you wisdom in this matter. I know that Ivriniel is right in one thing. Dol Amroth and Gondor will need someone to carry on her work. And it is our duty to defend these shores and keep our people safe. Often it asks us to make sacrifices. Why would you be any different than your brothers?"
The latter part of his words sounded like he was thinking out loud. But his face now seemed even more sad, and he got down on one knee so that he could hug her.
"So be it. May Nienna forgive me if I am wrong to allow this."
The young princess expected her father to take her to Aunt Ivriniel straight away. However, before sending her to her first lesson of the day with her teachers, Father said she would come to Lothíriel in her own time.
"She does things in her own way. You will see", Father simply said before kissing her cheek quickly and pushing her gently on the back.
She didn't learn much that day during her lessons. Her mind was fixed on the conversation with her father, and the one she wasn't supposed to know about. What was Aunt thinking now? Was she happy that Lothíriel wanted to be trained? What would it be like, and what had Father meant when he had said the way Aunt contributed to defending the city was different? The young princess could scarcely wait till she could get an answer to these questions, much to the frustration of her schoolmaster, who was supposed to be teaching her the history of Eldacar, King of Gondor that day.
Her own anxiety grew steadily towards the evening, but her aunt made no appearance, and she didn't join the rest of the family for dinner. Father was quiet that night, but her brothers took care of conversation – or rather, their noise was best described as bickering. Only Elphir seemed to notice something was off, but he said nothing.
Lothíriel was sure she wouldn't be able to sleep that night. Her mind was still racing when her nurse had left the chamber and quiet had fallen. Her imagination had long since left behind any attempt to stay reasonable, and she was fast picturing herself fighting alongside Elven warriors and taking down dragons.
It was in the middle of these feverish thoughts that she fell asleep, though the dreams that followed were hardly any more tranquil. But they did not go on for long, because a pair of hands shaking her shoulders wakened her to the still hour of night.
The young princess startled awake, gasping at the abrupt ending of her sleep. Blinking her eyes, she saw a dark figure above herself, but before she could scream, the shape lifted a lantern to give them some light. It was Aunt Ivriniel.
"Get dressed and follow me, child", Aunt spoke in a quiet voice and she straightened up.
"Where are we going?" Lothíriel asked as she struggled to stand up and find something to dress in.
"You'll see. Now make haste", was the simple answer, and the young princess quickly found herself a simple dress and a pair of slippers.
Aunt lead the way outside. She carried the lantern in one hand but held it low as they passed through the dimly lit hallways of the palace. They passed only a few night guards on the way, but they paid them little to no attention. Maybe they were used to seeing Aunt wander around at strange hours. This would not have surprised Lothíriel, not after the last few days and the conversation she had eavesdropped on.
The night was cool, but not unbearably so. The waxing moon rode across the starlit sky and down below the fortress, sea whispered gently against the rock. All was quiet and well in Dol Amroth.
Aunt steered them all the way to the outer courtyard, and once there, she headed for the one door Lothíriel would rather have left unopened. She usually avoided this place if she could; the last time she had been there had been after her mother had died. People rarely went there, anyway. It was not a door to a happy place.
The young princess bit her lip and fought against the urge to ask if they really needed to go this way. However, Aunt's posture was straight and determined, and instinctively she knew she couldn't be craven now. Either she kept her mouth shut and followed, or went back to the bed and forgot this had ever happened.
"Come along, Lothíriel", Aunt said as she opened the door. The rusty hinges creaked and a current of damp air hit their faces as the woman revealed the doorway that was as dark as though it was an opening into the Night itself.
Aunt Ivriniel stepped inside, fearless and resolute, but Lothíriel hesitated for a second before following the tall woman. Now she lifted the lantern, lighting the way down: the stairs lead deep into darkness. They began to descend.
The stairs had been hewn into the rock itself and they seemed to go on forever, into the very heart of the earth. It was very quiet for a while, and one could easily imagine in this place that shadow had swallowed the world, leaving nothing but this unending descent. But eventually, the darkness grew a little lighter and there was some noise again. Then they reached the bottom, where a long corridor started.
Light came inside through cracks and vents, and so did the voice of the sea. Eerily it echoed in the vaults as though these deep halls were full of whispering voices. How could anyone rest peacefully here? Lothíriel shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
"Don't be afraid, child. This is possibly the safest place in all of Dol Amroth. There's no one here but the dead", Aunt spoke softly. How she knew what her niece was thinking and feeling, the young princess couldn't tell, as the woman hadn't even turned to look at her.
They reached the first statue. It was a tall man, dressed in long flowing robes and wearing a jewel on his brow. His face was noble and one of his hands was before him, palm up as though he was holding something. Wisdom and sadness had been carved into his features with such skill one might even wonder if some Dwarven smith had made it.
The two continued their journey, passing by countless statues, and long dark corridors that lead deep into the rock. But eventually, Aunt chose one hallway. The line of statues was shorter there, and somehow they all looked very similar. They wore the same simple, unadorned gown, and few of them had jewellery on them. Soon enough Lothíriel noticed another thing that they shared: all of them had the same small dagger: one was holding it on their palm, the other was pulling out of their sleeve. There was one who had aimed it at their own heart.
"Who are they, Aunt?" Lothíriel asked in growing wonder. She had never seen this line before.
"They are those who have no name in our land. Few remember them, for there are no songs about the things they did. But they were some of the bravest that have lived on these shores, and many of them sacrificed much to help protect Dol Amroth and Gondor", answered Aunt, her voice deeply reverent as she looked upon the faces carven in stone. "Do you notice something special about them?"
"They are all women", said the young princess.
"Indeed. These are women of the House of Dol Amroth – princesses and noble ladies by birth, but champions of our people by their deeds. These are our predecessors, Lothíriel. They went where armies couldn't march and found ways through walls that would keep strongest warriors at bay. By taking to themselves the faces of washer women, peasants, harlots and queens, they listened and saw things that no one else could have discovered. And at times, they wielded that dagger to end a threat before it could reach the gates of Dol Amroth. Child, these women are the Ladies of the Hidden Blade", Aunt Ivriniel answered. Briefly she bowed her head, as though one who has just finished praying to the Powers. Though she was still young, Lothíriel felt like her aunt wasn't talking about these women in the way Father spoke of his predecessors. Rather, she spoke of them as if the high priestess of some strange cult might speak of spirits and gods she worshipped.
Even Lothíriel listened in wonder and gazed at the stone faces of this tribe of women she had never heard existed. If they had done such wonderful things, why hadn't she heard about them before?
"But how come no one ever speaks about them?" she wanted to know and looked up at the tall woman by her side.
"Because we are a secret. If our enemies knew about us, who we are and where we come from, then we wouldn't be able to do our work. This is our most valuable disguise, Lothíriel, and it's the foundation for all other disguises we wear. To the world, we are simply Princesses of Dol Amroth", Aunt said as she put down her lantern on the smooth stone floor. Then she lowered herself down so that their faces were on the same level.
"This is the choice given to you, child. If you wish, we may return to the palace, and I escort you to your chambers. Then you lay down to sleep, and we never speak of this night again. However, if you would like to learn more about who these women were, and if you want to become one of them, then I will teach you", Aunt Ivriniel spoke solemnly. Her features were impassive, but her grey eyes burned very brightly. The young princess had never seen such intensity about her father's sister.
But whatever it meant, she was too excited to dwell on it for too long.
"Yes, Aunt. I would like to learn."
So began her training.
Half of it was that of a princess, half was to become a Lady of the Hidden Blade. Former she endured and the latter she rejoiced in – at first, in any case. Beforehand, she much expected to be like that of her brothers, but was soon proven wrong: there were no long hours in the training grounds with a master at arms shouting commands, or sparring with Aunt. Rather, the tall woman had her climbing and swimming and running and balancing. She paid close attention to movement, almost to the point where Lothíriel had to learn how to walk again. This was the hardest part, and it took a lot of sweat and tears for the young princess to begin to understand her own body in the way that, as Aunt said, would allow her to become light and swift enough.
"You are a ghost, child. You want to be a ghost, because the places you'll be going to are not the kind where you'd like to get caught", Aunt said sternly when she had the girl standing on the edge of a fence, using only one foot. The tall woman was fond of taking her to most difficult places in the city, having her climb over the slimy and wet rocks on the beach and telling her to complete difficult tasks while trying to distract her in every way possible.
"Always pay attention to your surroundings, girl! When you master your environment, it becomes your ally. If you know how to use it, then you have an edge over the strongest warrior", Aunt explained to her when she was climbing up from a tide pool, covered in sea weed.
Part of the training was dancing practice, though usually it was dances from other lands. Hitting the floor of the gallery with a cane, Aunt barked directions relentlessly, while Lothíriel tried to keep up and not get her feet tangled. When she stumbled and the tall woman ordered her to get up, she looked defiantly at her.
"Why are we practicing dancing? I already know all the court dances", she complained and climbed up on her feet.
"Dancing is a very good way to learn to control your movement. You don't yet understand the edge it gives to you. And knowing a few dances from other countries can come in very useful when you need to blend in. Again!" Aunt answered and began to beat the floor once more with the cane. The young princess sighed and followed directions, though she wondered if she would ever be putting any of this to use.
When there was battle training, it was not what she expected. Much of what Aunt taught her was avoiding, dodging and parrying – and using her opponent's strength against them. When Lothíriel asked why wasn't she being trained like her brothers, Aunt looked at her coolly.
"I'm not training you to become a warrior. You will participate no charges or go to battlefields. You are the Hidden Blade that stabs in the dark, and I'm trying to make sure that you will know how to survive", she stated sternly.
"But there is no honour in that", the young princess pointed out, frowning as she did. In the stories her mother and nursemaid used to tell her, the heroes and heroines were bright and shining and their deeds honest. They didn't go creeping in the dark, but stood with their proud banners and threw their defiance against their enemies.
"Honour never saved anyone's life, Lothíriel. It is a concern for men and children. Women, those of our line especially, do what they must", Ivriniel stated and had her going through one particularly difficult set of stances once more. The young princess complied, but her heart was troubled. This was a side of her father's sister she had never known existed.
It was hard work. The style Aunt was teaching her required high level of agility and control, and so the princess began to understand why the dance lessons were so important. Yet no matter how much she tried, Aunt rarely seemed pleased and was always pushing her beyond her limits, and the woman's voice even barked in her dreams: "Harder! Harder!"
Eventually, all the work started to pay off. Lothíriel became stronger and faster than she had ever thought possible. She learned the ways of the sword, not like her brothers but in a fashion that she would not be left helpless if a situation ever came that she found a blade directed at her. Daggers became alive in her hands and she began to understand them more as extensions of herself than simply lifeless objects. And they found their marks with precision that even managed to make her aunt smile on an occasion – a most uncommon occurrence and highest reward of those days in Lothíriel's young life.
Just as important were the things she was taught indoors. She studied the customs of peoples that lived beyond the borders of Gondor, the policies of their rulers and laws ordaining their lives. Much of these lessons came from Aunt Ivriniel herself, as she had spent time among foreign tribes of Men. She also insisted Lothíriel to have lessons to learn various languages the Prince's children usually did not learn, and some of them her aunt had to teach herself. So Lothíriel was taught the tongue of Haradrim and she learned to recognise different accents. Aunt even knew a little of Northmen's language and Rohirric, too. In serious tones, the tall woman told her how the key to a convincing disguise was being able to command the language of those one wished to deceive.
And like Lothíriel rather guessed from this statement, disguises were to be a part of her training.
"You must know how to blend in. To do this, you need to know how to make yourself look and sound like someone else", said Aunt, and that was the start of another complex set of lessons. Seated in the older woman's private parlour, Lothíriel watched Aunt Ivriniel as she changed between characters and roles. Her wonder grew when she saw all the little ways that her teacher was able to alter herself, from her hair to her attire, her speech to the way she walked – even her expressions played a part. It appeared her father's sister could convincingly pretend to be at least a dozen different women, each with distinct life histories and mannerisms.
"Come up with a story. Make it something you could believe in. If you do, then it will be easier to make others believe it, too", said her aunt as the woman washed ash from her face. She had just appeared in the guise of a crippled beggar, and her act had been so heartbreaking Lothíriel had almost believed it herself. Sternly the tall Princess looked at her, "But remember this: you must avoid getting attention, and don't let your vanity get better of you. If you are noticed, your disguise becomes useless."
Soon enough Lothíriel learned that disguises were best described as an artform. It was not just how one dressed, it was also how one spoke and moved. Her dancing lessons and hours spent learning languages took yet another meaning, and she also found her more formal education as a princess was useful as well. Women of noble birth used powders and kohl to make themselves beautiful; the Lady of the Hidden Blade could use them as her armour.
It was half a game to Lothíriel: trying to come up with a disguise so good that even her aunt would be fooled. It would take her years to actually accomplish.
While her lessons were intense, and along with her official education they kept her busy from dawn til dusk, they were interrupted at times when Aunt Ivriniel left the city. In the first days of her training she was not told the reason for this, but eventually she came to know it was because Aunt was still occupied with the tasks of the Hidden Blade. She was young no more, and yet she still went on these missions, perhaps because the blood of Númenor and their Elven ancestress kept her agile and strong unlike other mortal men. Even then, as years grew on Lothíriel's shoulders and she began to understand more of what was going around her, she also started to understand the look of worry that appeared on Father's face whenever Aunt left the city.
It only deepened when the young princess spoke up: "Father, I could do it. Aunt has been training me."
"You are not ready yet, daughter. You don't know what awaits you there", said Father, shutting down her hopes at once. Even so, Lothíriel wondered if she had been so wrong at all, when Aunt Ivriniel returned from her last mission with an injury so bad it left her with a permanent limp.
Not long after, Lothíriel was invited to the sickroom, where her aunt was recovering from her ailment. The woman seemed more frail and weak than the young princess had ever seen her, and yet the old fire burned in her eyes as strong as ever.
"The spirit is willing but my body is not", Aunt said, coughing up the words with some difficulty. "That is our lot, child: to get old and weak. That is why the mantle is passed on. But you are not ready yet. There are still things I need to teach you before you can go and face the world."
But the world was becoming darker. The older Lothíriel grew, the more there was danger in the world; Aunt was too old and weakened to fight it, she was too young and inexperienced to do anything about it. The hour was even later than Aunt Ivriniel had guessed when she had started to train her niece.
There were still a few lessons left, and one of them took place when Lothíriel was fifteen years old.
Aunt took her to Minas Tirith, the City of Kings as it was called, though no king had ruled there in a very long time. Yet the people there seemed to await for a time he'd return, as though it was somehow possible that such a man might emerge from the mists of time. Her uncle Denethor and cousin Boromir expected no such thing, but Faramir had a strange kind of hope; Aunt Ivriniel told her not to dwell on it over much. If she had opinions on the politics and court intrigue, she never spoke of them to her pupil.
"It is all the same for us whether there is a king in the land or not", Aunt said as they travelled to the lower levers, riding one of the veiled carriages Aunt preferred now that she walked with a limp. Lothíriel knew they would have walked if things had been otherwise. If her mentor hated something, it was losing her strength and agility.
"Who would we serve, if there was a king in the land?" she asked the older woman.
The question brought the slightest twitch to her aunt's face. Among the people she knew, Aunt Ivriniel was the absolute master of controlling her emotions, and even Lord Denethor, for all his subtlety, could not compete with her.
"It is no matter. We serve the realm", Aunt answered simply and peered out. They were down to the fourth level of the city now, and the houses were not quite as fine or grand as up on the sixth level, where her father's town house was located. But it was still respectable enough – at least to her eyes.
They turned away from the main road and then took another turn, while Lothíriel gazed out with growing curiosity. The further they travelled from the main road, the greater was her distance from the world she had known until now. She knew this was something she would have to become familiar with if she was to follow in the footsteps of her aunt, but even so, she couldn't help the wonder she felt. It was one thing to train for this shadowy path – another entirely was to actually walk it.
At last, her aunt knocked thrice on the wooden panel of the carriage. They had now driven to a deep, narrow street, far from the main road that lead up to the Citadel. Next to them, there was a nondescript building that looked like most of the houses of the White City. One thing there was that set it apart: crimson veils covered the windows. It was a most unusual colour, Lothíriel thought to herself – decadent almost.
Aunt looked at Lothíriel, her eyes sharp and demanding.
"You must go inside. There's a lady waiting for you", she sated firmly.
"What kind of a lady?" asked Lothíriel with a slight frown.
"A lady of the night", answered Aunt Ivriniel as she settled down more comfortably on her seat.
But the younger woman gazed at her in surprise and horror. How in the name of Elbereth could her aunt bring her here!
"Aunt! You can't be serious!" she exclaimed, glancing between the face of her mentor and the doorway of the house. It was much like any building in this part of the city, and yet Lothíriel had never considered there were these kind of houses in the White City.
"Oh, but I am. Don't worry, child. You only need to listen to what she tells you. It's like any other lesson with your schoolmaster", Aunt said, waving her hand dismissively. How could she take it so easily?
"But... but..." Lothíriel said, seeking for the proper words but not quite finding them. She was not ready for this.
However, her aunt thought she was very much ready.
"I know, child. It's the training of a noble lady in you that resists. But Lothíriel, this is a valuable lesson. It could save your life. It could help you to get information you won't otherwise be able to obtain. Consider it as you would consider sword-play – only, the weapon is your body, your charms, and your knowledge of how to use them. You see, men can be so simple-minded. Sometimes they think more with their balls than with their brain. If you know how to control their desires – if you can make them to want you, then you have an opening", Aunt explained. Her eyes were eager and deep as she said these things, as though this was a lesson she had long awaited to deliver. Be that as it may, it had awakened Lothíriel's interest, though she was also rather embarrassed at the woman's choice of words.
The young princess thought about this, her brow knitting. Maybe there was a lesson to be learned here.
"So, it's just like another disguise?" she asked, her voice slightly doubtful.
"Precisely", Aunt Ivriniel said with a faint smile. "It could be the most powerful disguise you're ever going to learn. Go inside, and you will see."
"Very well", said Lothíriel, curious and bold in a way she had never felt before. Wondering what she would learn once she got there, she stepped outside.
Not long after, they returned to Dol Amrohth.
Lothíriel felt like what was left of her innocence had been discarded back in Minas Tirith, right at the doorstep of that pleasure house she had visited to learn how to seduce and entice men. Not that she rued the knowledge she had acquired there, but there were moments she missed the bliss of ignorance. For what she had learned in the house of crimson veils seemed to confirm all that Aunt had taught her about the harsh realities of the world, and the passing of her naïve innocence was not painless.
Be that as it may, Aunt Ivriniel seemed to consider she was almost ready. She had trained and trained and trained, and she had learned how to distract and deceive. It was time.
There was one last thing to do. The second night after their return to the city by the sea, Aunt appeared by her bedside once more. Lothíriel felt like the child she had once been when her father's sister told her to get up and follow.
This time, they didn't go to the crypt below the fortress. Instead, her aunt lead her down to the shore of the sea, walking as determinedly as ever in spite of her limp; her lean, strong body still retained its grace. The young princess followed, eager and full of wonder for what awaited her there. At this time, she regarded her aunt as high as Elbereth.
They reached the shore at last. The tide was rising and the surf was loud, licking the shore as though to overcome it. The moon was half full and it rode high, giving enough light to this night of Ladies of the Hidden Blade. Once again, Aunt wore that face as Lothíriel had seen only once before; but now they were not walking in a grave.
"Step into the sea, child", Aunt commanded as they stood upon the shore. And Lothíriel obeyed, the way she had so many times done. She walked there until the waters reached her waist, listening to the voice of her aunt.
"Warriors call upon the names of Oromë and Tulkas, to sharpen and guide their blades, to make their horses fast, to let their arms grow strong and guard them in battle. But we, my child, we call upon Mandos the Doomsman, and we invoke Irmo's name so that he might let us pass in shadow and silence", Aunt Ivriniel spoke, high and dark, as she had spoken to her in the first days of her training. Then she had not understood, and she still didn't. Perhaps she would only see this when she was fully accepted.
"We call upon Mandos", Lothíriel said, raising her eyes to the starlit skies that Elbereth ruled, "We invoke the name of Irmo."
"Indeed", Aunt said, and then she pushed her head under water.
She struggled. How was her aunt so strong even when she was crippled? Yet her hand was unyielding and hard, and the only time Lothíriel reached the air was when she was allowed.
There was a voice: "Give yourself to the sea, child."
Remembering all that had been taught to her, all that she knew, Lothíriel let go. She stopped struggling, though all her senses protested; she ought to be fighting back to reach the surface! But she let her body become limp, let her aunt's hand push her below.
It was then she was pulled up. Gasping she emerged, as though a newborn babe from the womb of her mother.
Above her, Aunt stood, firm as an oak. On her face there was a triumphant smile.
"You are ready."
To be continued.